“Yes, indeed. Fukuoka is my hometown.”
“Fukuoka your hometown? But you lived and worked here for years, Ogata-San. Don’t we have any claim on you in Nagasaki?”
Ogata-San laughed and leaned his head to one side. “A man might work and make his contribution in one place, but at the end of it all” — he shrugged and smiled wistfully — “at the end of it all, he still wants to go back to the place where he grew up.”
Mrs Fujiwara nodded understandingly. Then she said: “I was just remembering, Ogata-San, the days when you were the headmaster at Suichi’s school. He used to be so frightened of you.”
Ogata-San laughed. “Yes, I remember your Suichi very well. A bright little boy. Very bright.”
“Do you really remember him still, Ogata-San?”
“Yes, of course, I remember Suichi. He used to work very hard. A good little boy.”
“Yes, he was a good little boy.”
Ogata-San pointed at his bowl with his chopsticks. “This is really marvellous,” he said.
“Nonsense. I’m sorry I have nothing better to give you.”
“No, really, it’s delicious.”
“Now let me see,” said Mrs Fujiwara. “There was a teacher in those days, she was very kind to Suichi. Now what was her name? Suzuki, I think it was, Miss Suzuki. Have you any idea what became of her, Ogata-San?”
“Miss Suzuki? Ah, yes, I recall her quite well. But I’m afraid I’ve no idea where she could be now.”
“She was very kind to Suichi. And there was that other teacher, Kuroda was his name. An excellent young man.”
“Kuroda …” Ogata-San nodded slowly. “Ah yes, Kuroda. I remember him. A splendid teacher.”
“Yes, a most impressive young man. My husband was very struck by him. Do you know what became of him?”
“Kuroda …” Ogata-San was still nodding to himself. A streak of sunlight had fallen across his face, lighting up the many wrinkles around his eyes. “Kuroda, now let me see. I ran into him once, quite by accident. That was at the start of the war. I suppose he went off to fight. I’ve never heard of him since. Yes, an excellent teacher. There are so many from those days I never hear of now.”
Someone called out to Mrs Fujiwara and we watched her go hurriedly across the forecourt to her customer’s table. She stood there bowing for several moments, then cleared some dishes from the table and disappeared into the kitchen.
Ogata-San watched her, then shook his head. “A great pity to see her like this,” he said, in a low voice. I said nothing and continued to eat. Then Ogata-San leaned across the table and asked: “Etsuko, what did you say was the name of her son? The one who’s still alive, I mean.”
“Kazuo,” I whispered.
He nodded, then returned to his bowl of noodles.
Mrs Fujiwara came back a few moments later. “Such a shame I don’t have something better to offer you,” she said.
“Nonsense,” said Ogata-San. “This is delicious. And how is Kazuo-San these days?”
“He’s fine. He’s in good health, and he enjoys his work.”
“Splendid. Etsuko was telling me he works for a motor car company.”
“Yes, he’s doing very well there. What’s more, he’s thinking of marrying again.”
“Really?”
“He said once he’d never marry again, but he’s starting to look ahead to things now. He has no one in mind as of yet, but at least he’s started to think ahead.”
“That sounds like good sense,” Ogata-San said. “Why, he’s still quite a young man, isn’t he?”
“Of course he is. He still has all his life ahead of him.”
“Of course he has. His whole life ahead of him. You must find him a nice young lady, Mrs Fujiwara.”
She laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t tried. But young women are so different these days. It amazes me, how things have changed so much so quickly.”
“Indeed, how right you are. Young women these days are all so headstrong. And forever talking about washing-machines and American dresses. Etsuko here’s no different.”
“Nonsense, Father.”
Mrs Fujiwara laughed again, then said: “I remember the first time I heard of a washing-machine, I couldn’t believe anyone would want such a thing. Spending all that money, when you had two good hands to work with. But I’m sure Etsuko wouldn’t agree with me.”
I was about to say something, but Ogata-San spoke first: “Let me tell you,” he said, “what I heard the other day. A man was telling me this, a colleague of Jiro’s, in fact. Apparently at the last elections, his wife wouldn’t agree with him about which party to vote for. He had to beat her, but she still didn’t give way. So in the end, they voted for separate parties. Can you imagine such a thing happening in the old days? Extraordinary.”
Mrs Fujiwara shook her head. “Things are so different now,” she said, and sighed. “But I hear from Etsuko, Jiro-San is getting on splendidly now. You must be proud of him, Ogata-San.”
“Yes, I suppose that boy’s getting on well enough. In fact, today he’ll be representing his firm at a most important meeting. It appears they’re thinking of promoting him again.”
“How marvellous.”
“It was only last year he was promoted. I suppose his superiors must have a high opinion of him.”
“How marvellous. You must be very proud of him.”
“He’s a determined worker, that one. He always was from an early age. I remember when he was a boy, and all the other fathers were busy telling their children to study harder, I was obliged to keep telling him to play more, it wasn’t good for him to work so hard.”
Mrs Fujiwara laughed and shook her head. “Yes, Kazuo’s a hard worker too,” she said. “He’s often reading through his paperwork right into the night. I tell him he shouldn’t work so hard, but he won’t listen.”
“No, they never listen. And I must admit, I was much the same. But when you believe in what you’re doing, you don’t feel like idling away the hours. My wife was always telling me to take it easy, but I never listened.”
“Yes, that’s just the way Kazuo is. But he’ll have to change his ways if he marries again.”
“Don’t depend on it,” Ogata-San said, with a laugh. Then he put his chopsticks neatly together across his bowl. “Why, that was a splendid meal.”
“Nonsense. I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you something better. Would you care for some more?”
“If you have more to spare me, I’d be delighted. These days, I have to make the best of such good cooking, you know.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs Fujiwara again, getting to her feet.
We had not been back long when Jiro came in from work, an hour or so earlier than usual. He greeted his father cheerfully — his show of temper the previous night apparently quite forgotten — before disappearing to take his bath. He returned a little later, dressed in a kimono, humming a song to himself. He seated himself on a cushion and began to towel his hair.
“Well, how did it go?” Ogata-San asked.
“What’s that? Oh, the meeting, you mean. It wasn’t so bad. Not so bad at all.”
I had been on the point of going into the kitchen, but paused at the doorway, waiting to hear what else Jiro had to say. His father, too, continued to look at him. For several moments, Jiro went on towelling his hair, looking at neither of us.
“In fact,” he said at last, “I suppose I did rather well. I persuaded their representatives to sign an agreement. Not exactly a contract, but to all purposes the same thing. My boss was quite surprised. It’s unusual for them to commit themselves like that. He told me to take the rest of the day off.”
“Why, that’s splendid news,” Ogata-San said, then gave a laugh. He glanced towards me, then back at his son. “That’s splendid news.”